FictionShe’d seen her mother a couple of times since the lockdown ended, but it was still a shock. Margaret had lost some vital density that seemed ethereal, although it was obviously about her body – the protruding cheekbones, eyes sunk too deep in her head and hair a wispy cap across her scalp. Only her hands looked the same – her piano-playing hands resting neatly in her lap, long-fingered and surprisingly preserved. The rest of her was ghostly, and there was a blink when she looked at her daughter and the lights didn’t go on. SJ felt a momentary sinkhole: not that, not yet.

FictionONE OF THE nice things about having a baby was how the old Italian lady next door changed. ‘It’s weird,’ Abbey said after they brought Xan home from the hospital. ‘You’d think dykes having babies together would be worse than...

Fiction ANNIE DOESN’T RECOGNISE the old teacher at first glance, not consciously. She only registers a vague sense of disorientation that seems carried in by the light in this new room – bright and sharp, streaming through high-panelled windows. A...